


i hid my eyes from you

by talkwordytome



Series: Emily-verse (Ratched) [6]
Category: Ratched (TV)
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Caretaker Gwendolyn, F/F, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Mildred Ratched Needs a Hug, Sick Mildred, Sickfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-09
Updated: 2020-12-09
Packaged: 2021-03-10 10:34:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,465
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27969137
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/talkwordytome/pseuds/talkwordytome
Summary: “Hello? Yes, is this Trevor Briggs? Hello, Trevor, this is Emily Ratched-Briggs speaking. Yes, I know we talk regularly, but I think phone manners are very important, don’t you? Oh, why am I calling? Well, actually, I need a bit of a favor.I’mfine, but would you maybe be willing to drive Mildred and me to the hospital?”in which Mildred is Fine™️, right up until she isn't.
Relationships: Gwendolyn Briggs & Emily (original character), Gwendolyn Briggs & Trevor Briggs, Gwendolyn Briggs/Mildred Ratched, Mildred Ratched & Emily (original character)
Series: Emily-verse (Ratched) [6]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2036965
Comments: 54
Kudos: 78





	i hid my eyes from you

**Author's Note:**

  * For [SBWomenofMarvel](https://archiveofourown.org/users/SBWomenofMarvel/gifts).



> for sbwomenofmarvel, who requested a fic in which Mildred is sick/injured fairly seriously. hope you enjoy!
> 
> Title comes from "I Belong to You" by Brandi Carlile
> 
> In terms of timeline, this fic takes place in February 1956, so Emily is 11 and in the 6th grade

“I’m really not sure I should go.”

Gwendolyn sighs. She glares at her open suitcase, as though it’s done something to deeply offend her. She pauses in the middle of folding a blouse and sets it onto the mattress. She crosses her arms over her chest. She scrutinizes Mildred, who’s sitting at the edge of the bed and watching as Gwendolyn packs.

“Why not?” Mildred asks.

Gwendolyn rolls her eyes. “You know perfectly well _why not_ ,” she says crossly. 

She picks up the blouse before immediately putting it back down. She taps her foot and purses her lips. “How are you feeling _really_?” she asks.

Mildred bristles. “I’m _fine_ ,” she says. “You’ve asked me that three times in the last two hours. My answer hasn’t changed.”

Gwendolyn sits next to Mildred. She presses the backs of her hands to Mildred’s cheeks and forehead, then frowns. “You’re a bit warm,” she murmurs.

Mildred pulls away from Gwendolyn’s touch. “Maybe your hands are just cold,” she counters. 

“Maybe,” Gwendolyn says doubtfully, but she drops that particular line of conversation. She changes tactics. “I don’t want me being gone and you being sick to worry Emily.”

A brief flash of doubt crosses Mildred’s face before she schools her features back into an expression of disdain. “I’m hardly sick,” she scoffs. “It’s nothing worse than a cold.”

Gwendolyn tucks a loose lock of Mildred’s hair behind her ear. “If it _were_ only a cold,” she gently points out, “I’m not sure it would be taking you nearly two weeks to recover.”

“So then it’s a bad cold,” Mildred allows with a sniffle. 

Because, really, it _would_ be foolish to pretend otherwise when the evidence is right in front of both of them: it _is_ a bad cold. An especially bad one. In the wintertime, Mildred is usually the first to pick up whatever goes around and often the last to be rid of it, but she’s willing to privately admit that this is beyond the pale, even for her. Gwendolyn is right; she does have a fever, she’s checked. And right when she usually would’ve turned a corner, the cold instead went into her chest, where it’s been lingering ever since.

“It’s a bad cold,” Mildred repeats, shrugging, “but I’ll get through it, and it’s certainly not a reason to cancel your business trip.”

Gwendolyn graces her fingertips over Mildred’s mouth, then cups the apple of Mildred’s cheek. “I hate the thought of you feeling badly when I’m not here.”

Mildred closes her eyes and leans into Gwendolyn’s hand. “I know,” she murmurs. “I’m not particularly fond of it either.”

“So then tell me to _stay_.”

But Mildred shakes her head. “You’d inconvenience the senator and the rest of your team terribly,” she says. “And what would you tell them, that I have the sniffles? I’d be mortified.” 

She manages to just finish the sentence before her breath catches and she falls to coughing into her elbow. It’s a heavy cough, congested and faintly wheezy, and the sound of it makes Gwendolyn wince. She rubs Mildred’s back until the fit passes.

“Honey,” she frets, “that doesn’t sound anything like the sniffles.” She bites her bottom lip. “Are you _sure_ \--?”

“ _Gwendolyn_ ,” Mildred interrupts. “Yes, I’m sure.” She takes Gwendolyn’s hands in her own. “You’ll give me the number of your hotel and I’ll call you every night, alright? I promise.” 

She kisses Gwendolyn’s knuckles, first on the right hand and then on the left. “It’s only a few days. You’ll be back before we know it, and by then I’m sure I’ll be perfectly fine.”

The next day is a Monday, and it dawns cold and clear. Gwendolyn leaves after breakfast, just before Emily walks to school. 

“You’re so lucky,” Emily sighs between bites of cereal, “that you’re staying in a hotel. I wish we could _live_ in a hotel. Anna and I stayed overnight in a hotel once, when she was taking me to live with a new family. She let me bounce on the bed and we went out for ice cream.”

Gwendolyn laughs and kisses Emily on the cheek. “My little Eloise,” she says fondly. “You’ll be good while I’m gone?”

“Yes, Gwen.”

“You’ll do your homework and go to bed without arguing?” Gwendolyn continues. “You’ll finish your dinner before you eat dessert?”

Emily rolls her eyes. “I’m _eleven_ now, you know,” she says, “ _and_ I’m very mature for my age.”

“So you’ve said,” Gwendolyn says wryly. She kisses Emily one more time.

Mildred walks Gwendolyn to the door. “Last chance,” Gwendolyn whispers. “Say the word and I’ll stay.”

Mildred smiles, a little sadly. She’s pale and her eyes are shadowed. “I know you will,” she says, “but you’re going, and that’s that.”

Gwendolyn, all at once, looks like she might cry. “I’ll call as soon as I get there,” she says, “and again before bed. And maybe even a few times in between.” She sighs. “You look _so_ miserable, Mildred.”

“I’m fine,” Mildred insists, but her voice is weak and hoarse. “I just need coffee and breakfast, and then I’ll be good as new.”

Gwendolyn nods, but she doesn’t look particularly convinced. She shifts her suitcase from one hand to the other. 

“You’re going to be late,” Mildred points out, “if you don’t leave soon.”

Gwendolyn furrows her brow and checks her watch. Mildred is right, as she so often is. She kisses Mildred, long and sweet and slow. 

“I love you,” Gwendolyn whispers. 

She goes to open the front door, but pauses with her hand on the knob. “If you get _any_ worse,” she says sternly, “even if it’s just a little, call me. And I’ll come right back.”

“I’ll call,” Mildred says, but both of them know she doesn’t really mean it.

Morning passes into afternoon uneventfully. Mildred spends much of her day either napping or drinking tea, lost in a sleepy haze of congestion and cough medicine. Emily arrives back home just after 3:30. She cooks soup and grilled cheese sandwiches for dinner, and firmly instructs Mildred that she’s to eat a full bowl of the soup and at least half a grilled cheese. 

“You’re a very bossy nurse,” Mildred says, her eyes twinkling.

Emily folds her napkin in her lap. “Well,” she says primly, “I did learn from the best.”

Gwendolyn calls for bedtime good-nights, just as promised. Mildred half-listens to Emily’s side of the conversation, as she tells Gwendolyn about her school day, the small dramas and victories that make up her life. She closes her eyes.

She must at some point drift off, because Emily is suddenly shaking her shoulder. “Gwen wants to talk to you,” she whispers.

Mildred stretches and stands, then walks across the room to pick up the telephone. 

“Hi, you,” comes Gwendolyn’s voice from over the line, so familiar and warm that Mildred has to swallow against the rising column of tears in her throat.

“Hi,” Mildred says, then grimaces when the word comes out crackly and raspy.

Gwendolyn coos. “Poor baby,” she says, “you don’t sound very good at all.”

“I’m fine,” Mildred says tiredly, “I was sleeping, so my voice is a bit groggy.”

“Mmm,” Gwendolyn says, but Mildred can tell she doesn’t quite believe it. “Are you feeling any better?”

“A bit,” Mildred lies. If anything she feels worse, weak and feverish and shivery. She can hardly take a breath for coughing.

“Did you have dinner?”

“Soup and grilled cheese,” Mildred answers. For this, at least, she can be truthful. “Emily cooked. She wouldn’t let me leave the table until she thought I’d eaten enough.”

“Good girl,” Gwendolyn says proudly. 

“How was your day?” Mildred asks, then lets her mind wander as Gwendolyn talks animatedly about the campaign and speeches and re-election events. 

Gwendolyn’s words are a lullaby, and it washes over Mildred like a wave. Mildred’s lungs have been tight and aching all day, but listening to Gwendolyn makes them feel lighter, makes breathing come so much easier. 

“Mildred?”

“Hmm?” Mildred says, blinking. “Yes?”

“You with me?” Gwendolyn asks softly. “You disappeared a little bit, I think.”

Mildred yawns. “Just tired,” she says. 

“Sleepy girl,” Gwendolyn says. “I’ve kept you too long; you need your rest. Go on to bed. I’ll talk to you first thing in the morning, okay?”

Mildred nods. The tears from earlier finally spill over. “I miss you,” she whimpers, ashamed at how needy she’s being the moment the words leave her lips.

Gwendolyn, though, isn’t bothered. “Darling,” she breathes, “I miss you, too. Just two more sleeps and then I’ll be back with you and Emily where I belong.”

* * *

When Emily wakes the next morning, the house is quiet. She sits up in bed, listening for the usual distant noises of Mildred moving through the kitchen as she makes breakfast. There are none. She frowns.

She throws back her covers and pads out into the hallway. She peers over the banister, but there are no lights on downstairs, no sign that Mildred has left her bedroom. Emily’s frown deepens, and small ripples of anxiety begin to spread through her stomach. 

She knocks softly on Mildred and Gwendolyn’s door to announce herself. “Mildred?” she says, peeking into the bedroom. “Are you alright? You’re usually awake by now. Are you sleeping late? Are you feeling badly?”

Mildred is curled up in the center of the bed, the covers pulled up to her chin. She groans quietly, but doesn’t otherwise indicate that she registers Emily’s presence. Emily walks to the window and opens the curtains, hoping to encourage Mildred. Mildred pulls the blankets over her head as sunlight streams into the bedroom.

“Come on,” Emily says, trying for the brisk tone Mildred always uses when she wakes Emily in the mornings for school. She pats what she hopes is Mildred’s shoulder. “Let’s go; up you get.”

“I don’t feel very well,” comes Mildred’s voice, muffled by her blankets and dreadfully hoarse.

The ripples of anxiety turn into a blast of cold, paralyzing fear. “Your cold?” Emily asks. She grabs a curl of hair and tugs. “Is it worse?”

“I don’t know,” Mildred says. “I feel very…cold, and weak.”

Emily reaches out towards Mildred’s forehead, then pauses. “Do you mind?” she asks. “I want to see if you’ve got a fever.”

Mildred waves a hand in a _go ahead_ gesture. Emily palms Mildred’s cheeks and forehead, then draws back from the heat they radiate. “Oh, you’re burning up,” Emily murmurs. “I’m getting the thermometer so I can take your temperature.”

“No, please don’t,” Mildred says faintly. “It must be awful, and I don’t want you to worry.”

“I’m already worried,” Emily points out, “so you wait here and I’ll be back in just a moment.”

Emily finds the thermometer in the medicine cabinet. She takes it, along with a cool compress she makes from a washcloth, a glass of water, and a few aspirin.

When she gets back to the bedroom, she drapes the compress over Mildred’s forehead and helps her sit up so she can take a few careful sips of water. 

“Now for the thermometer,” Emily says, setting the glass aside. “Open up.”

Mildred complies without argument, too miserable and listless to do anything else. Emily watches as the mercury creeps far past any sort of acceptable mark. Once the necessary three minutes pass, Emily removes the glass instrument and examines it uneasily. 

“It’s nearly 104,” she says, eyes wide. “Mildred, I don’t think you have a cold at all; your fever is too high for it to just be that.”

“I’ll be fine,” Mildred says, her eyes already slipping closed again. “I just need to sleep.”

“But you’re _not_ fine,” Emily says, a bit desperately. “You’re _so_ sick, and Gwendolyn isn’t here, and--”

She stops when she realizes Mildred has drifted back off. She chews her bottom lip, considering her options. She tiptoes downstairs. First, she pages through the phone book and finds the number for her school. She calls them and, using her best approximation of Gwendolyn’s voice, informs them that _Emily woke up a bit under the weather and unfortunately will not be able to attend class today_.

That bit of business taken care of, Emily then gets their emergency contact list from the kitchen junk drawer. She runs her finger down the column of names until she finds the one she needs. She takes a deep breath and dials the number.

“Hello? Yes, is this Trevor Briggs? Hello, Trevor, this is Emily Ratched-Briggs speaking. Yes, I know we talk regularly, but I think phone manners are very important, don’t you? Oh, why am I calling? Well, actually, I need a bit of a favor. _I’m_ fine, but would you maybe be willing to drive Mildred and me to the hospital?”

* * *

Gwendolyn bursts into Mildred’s hospital room like she’s been shot from a cannon. Her skirt is on backwards and her hair is falling out of its bun. Her eyes are wild and she looks around frantically until her eyes finally land on their target: Mildred, sleeping peacefully. 

She rushes over to Mildred’s bedside and kneels down. She pushes a few mussed locks of hair back from Mildred’s face and whispers something to her. Mildred mutters something in her sleep, though she doesn’t stir beyond that. Gwendolyn tenderly strokes the IV line that’s sticking out of the back of Mildred’s hand. 

She turns from Mildred and then immediately sweeps Emily into a crushing hug. She kisses Emily again and again and again, until Emily begins to whine against the intense flood of affection.

Gwendolyn, finally, turns to Trevor. “What _happened?_ ” she demands once she has deemed Emily properly greeted. “The woman at the hotel’s front desk hardly told me anything; she just said that you all were at the hospital and it was urgent.”

It’s not until Trevor puts a steadying arm around Gwendolyn’s waist that Gwendolyn realizes she’s shaking. He guides Gwendolyn to sit in the chair next to Mildred’s bed and rubs soothing circles on her shoulders. 

“She’s alright,” Trevor says, attempting to be reassuring, but his words have rather the opposite effect. 

Gwendolyn’s eyes flash dangerously. “She _clearly_ is _not_ alright,” she snaps, voice raised. Mildred murmurs again, and this time shifts slightly.

“She is not alright,” Gwendolyn whispers furiously. “If she were _alright_ she wouldn’t be in the _hospital_!” 

Gwendolyn wilts. She folds in half and buries her face in her hands. She sits like that for a long few moments before re-emerging. Her eyes are dry, but she looks perilously close to tears. “What happened?” she asks again, her voice breaking on the final syllable of _happened_.

“She has pneumonia,” Emily pipes up, the first words she’s spoken since Gwendolyn came into the room. “It’s not so bad, because she got here soon enough. Mostly she’s just dehydrated and feverish.” 

She pauses and blushes when she realizes Trevor and Gwendolyn are staring fixedly at her. “Well,” Emily says uncomfortably, “it _is_ what the doctor said. All I did was listen.”

“How,” Gwendolyn asks, “did she get to the hospital?” She turns to Trevor. “And how did _you_ get pulled into all of this?”

“Emily called him.”

Mildred is awake, her heavy eyes slowly blinking open. She’s pale and exhausted, but appears otherwise unharmed.

Gwendolyn makes a low keening sound and immediately grabs Mildred’s hands, mindful of the one with the IV. The tears finally come as she kisses Mildred over and over, until Mildred, like Emily, begins to protest. 

“I am _furious_ with you,” Gwendolyn hiccoughs through sobs. “You’re _never_ allowed to scare me like this again, do you understand me? Never, never, _never_.”

“Honestly,” Mildred says weakly, “everyone is being completely ridiculous; I’m perfectly--”

“Do not,” comes a voice, “say the word _fine_.”

The doctor, a woman with bright green eyes and blonde hair bobbed to her chin, leans up against the doorway. She sticks her hands into the pockets of her medical coat and raises her eyebrows. “You will _eventually_ be fine,” she continues, “but right now you are most assuredly _not_.”

She walks completely into the room and over to where Gwendolyn sits. She shakes Gwendolyn’s hand. Her grip is firm and warm, her palm slightly calloused. 

“Dr. Mansfield,” she says, introducing herself. “And you are…?”

“Gwendolyn Briggs,” Gwendolyn says. “I’m her…her person.”

“Her person,” Dr. Mansfield repeats, smiling slightly. “Well, Miss Briggs, your person has a case of pneumonia. It’s quite mild, really, because luckily,” she puts a hand on top of Emily’s head, “this bright little girl was smart enough to get Miss Ratched here before it became serious.” 

Dr. Mansfield smiles at Emily. “If she’d waited another day or two,” she continues, “we would be having a very different conversation.”

“So what happens now?” Gwendolyn asks, her voice quavering.

“I’d like to keep her overnight, just to make sure we get her fever down,” Dr. Mansfield says, “but then she’s more than welcome to return home. I’ll also be writing prescriptions for an inhaler and cough medicine with codeine.”

“Beyond that,” Dr. Mansfield continues, addressing both Gwendolyn and Mildred, ticking items off on her fingers as she runs through them, “you’ll need to be in warm, damp air as often as possible. A humidifier is ideal, but a steamy bath with eucalyptus oil will also suffice. Cool compresses will help the fever, but if it goes any higher than 102.9 you’ll need an ice bath. And you must rest. Absolutely no getting out of bed unless it’s necessary for at _least_ a week. Alright?”

Gwendolyn nods, but Mildred has already fallen back to sleep. 

“She’s going to be better before you know it,” Dr. Mansfield says, patting Gwendolyn on the shoulder, as if she’d read her mind.

The room is quiet and still once Dr. Mansfield leaves. They can hear Mildred’s breath as it wheezes softly in her chest. Gwendolyn holds out her arms, and Emily settles herself in Gwendolyn’s lap. 

“I’m getting too big for this,” Emily says, though she nonetheless leans her head against Gwendolyn’s shoulder.

Gwendolyn kisses Emily on the crown of her head. “Never.”

Trevor, who is leaning up against the wall, smiles as he watches Gwendolyn and Emily. 

“Emily,” he says, “do you mind if I borrow Gwendolyn for a moment?” He turns to Gwendolyn and raises his eyebrows knowingly. “I’m assuming you didn’t have breakfast on the way here.”

“That’s fine,” Emily says, at the same instant Gwendolyn says, “I’m not sure.”

Emily pats Gwendolyn’s cheek. “You should eat,” she says seriously. “We don’t need you to get sick too. Mildred being sick is plenty.”

“You’ll be okay by yourself?” Gwendolyn asks. “Just for a few minutes?”

Emily nods and untangles herself from Gwendolyn’s lap so Gwendolyn can stand. Gwendolyn crosses the room to Trevor, who puts a hand to the middle of Gwendolyn’s back. They leave together, Gwendolyn allowing herself to lean against Trevor as they walk.

“I’m not sure where the cafeteria is here,” Gwendolyn says once they’re halfway down the hall. “Really, I’m not even hungry; my stomach is in terrible knots. I wouldn’t say no to coffee, though.” She laughs quietly. “Or perhaps a stiff drink.”

Trevor stops, and Gwendolyn is a few steps past him before she notices. She turns around and cocks her head to the side, confused. “What’s wrong?” she asks. “Aren’t you coming?”

Trevor closes the gap between them. He grips Gwendolyn’s biceps in his hands. His brown eyes are warm and full of sympathy. Gwendolyn suddenly feels entirely too transparent; she feels very old, but not at all wise. Trevor, in some ways, knows her better than she knows herself.

“Gwennie,” Trevor says affectionately. “Oh, honey.”

Gwendolyn’s mouth quivers. She leans into Trevor’s familiar embrace. She tucks her face into his neck and lets herself come undone.

“Trevor,” she gasps through sobs, “Trevor, I--I thought that Mildred--that she…the hospital, they called, and--and I thought…” but she trails off, crying even harder, too overwrought to continue.

“I know, Gwennie,” Trevor says. Gwendolyn can feel his voice rumbling against her. “I know.”

* * *

After a largely sleepless night, Emily and Gwendolyn get to take Mildred home from the hospital. Mildred is weak and unsteady on her feet; she’s still a bit feverish, though not nearly so bad as the day prior. Gwendolyn helps Mildred up the stairs and gets her settled in bed. She arranges Mildred’s medicines on the bedside table, along with the bell Mildred used after she had her tonsils out, and pulls the covers up to Mildred’s chin. 

“I’ll be back in a while,” Gwendolyn says, then kisses her cheek. “Ring the bell if you need anything.”

She goes down the hall to Emily’s room. Emily is in bed, too, but she’s reading, not sleeping. Gwendolyn insisted she take the day off from school, to recover from the excitement of the last 24 hours.

“Hi you,” Gwendolyn says. “What are you reading?”

“ _Wuthering Heights_ ,” Emily says. “It’s terribly romantic. Lots and lots of swooning on the moors.”

“My favorite kind of swooning,” Gwendolyn says. 

She comes fully into the room and sits on the edge of Emily’s bed. She pats Emily’s leg where it lies beneath the blankets. She smiles, a bit sadly. “You’ve been so brave,” she says, “through all of this.”

Emily shrugs. She tugs on a lock of hair until Gwendolyn pulls her hand away. “I just did what anyone else would’ve done,” Emily says. “What you would’ve done.”

Gwendolyn cups Emily’s cheek in her hand. “Still,” she says, “you must have been very scared.”

These words seem to do something to Emily. A tremor passes through her. Then, all at once, she throws herself into Gwendolyn’s arms, holding onto her like she’s afraid she’ll be swept away by a current if she lets go. She cries stormily, her face hot against the top of Gwendolyn’s chest. She grips the fabric of Gwen’s shirt in her fists and twists it.

“Gwen,” she chokes out, “I thought…I thought she was going--going to _die_ , I thought…” but another sob overtakes her before she can keep speaking.

Gwendolyn rocks Emily, singing soft lullabies from her own childhood, until Emily eventually cries herself to sleep. Gwendolyn gently tucks her back under the blankets and sets _Wuthering Heights_ aside. She turns out the lights and closes the curtains.

Gwendolyn goes downstairs and on a notepad jots down Mildred’s medication schedule. She fills the kettle with water and sets it to boil. She prepares a breakfast tray: dry toast, oatmeal, and a sliced peach. The kettle boils and Gwendolyn pours steaming water into a mug, then adds a satchel of ginger tea. 

By the time she has finished these tasks, the small flicker of anger that’s been inside of her since she found out Mildred was in the hospital finally, finally begins to well and truly flame.

She storms back upstairs, every single nerve in her body vibrating, and throws open the bedroom door. 

“Where do you get off?” she demands of Mildred. 

Mildred startles awake and stares blearily at Gwendolyn. “What--?” she croaks.

Gwendolyn plants her hands on her hips. Her heart is beating frantically against her ribcage. “There’s no way,” she says through gritted teeth, “that you didn’t _know_ how sick you were.”

Mildred winces. “Gwen--”

“Don’t _Gwen_ me,” Gwendolyn snaps. She inhales sharply through her nose. “Do you have any idea how terrifying it is? To find out from a _hotel_ that you’re in the hospital? To not have any idea why? To not know if Emily is safe, if you’re safe, if you’re even--even _alive_?”

“It was hardly that serious,” Mildred says faintly.

“God _dammit_ , Mildred!” Gwendolyn says. She desperately wants to kick something but that will only make everything worse. “It _was_ that serious! It was _absolutely_ that serious!”

She lowers her voice. “Emily,” she whispers, “just cried on me for nearly a half hour because she thought you were going to _die_ , Mildred. You can’t keep _doing_ this.” 

She takes a moment to catch her breath before finishing. “You can’t keep pretending everything is fine, fine, fine until it becomes a crisis. It’s not sustainable. I can’t do it. I _won’t_ do it.”

Mildred’s chin trembles and her eyes swim with tears. “I’m sorry,” she whimpers, before she places her face in her hands and cries until she starts to cough. 

The fight leaches out of Gwendolyn like a deflating balloon. She hurries over to Mildred and rubs her back as she coughs, desperate and wracking, into her elbow.

“Breathe, baby,” Gwendolyn murmurs. “Breathe. I’ve got you. I’m here.”

Eventually the sobs slow to hiccoughs, and then sniffles. Mildred braces a hand against her ribs and grimaces. “I didn’t mean to make you angry,” she rasps.

“I’m not angry,” Gwendolyn says automatically, then sighs after Mildred gives her a disbelieving glance. “Fine, I _am_ angry. But not at you. I’m angry at your…your actions. There’s a difference.”

She holds Mildred’s feverish face in her hands. “I’m sad,” she continues, “and I’m angry that you think you can’t tell me when you’re ill, or hurting, because then I can’t help you.”

“But you shouldn’t _have_ to help me,” Mildred insists, jaw set, stubborn to the last. “I should take care of myself; I have to take care of myself.”

“But _why_?” Gwendolyn asks. 

This finally seems to stump Mildred. “I…I don’t know,” she says meekly. “I--it’s just…always been that way.”

Gwendolyn holds Mildred’s hands tightly. “Well,” she says, “it’s not anymore. Not if I have anything to say about it.”

Mildred gives a watery little laugh. “You always have something to say about it.”

Gwendolyn moves so she’s fully on the bed. She snuggles under the covers and presses her body up to Mildred’s. She buries her nose in Mildred’s hair and breathes in her smell, so beautiful and familiar and alive.

“Then let me love you,” Gwendolyn whispers. “Let me take care of you the way you deserve.”

They lie this way, holding each other, until Mildred falls asleep. Gwendolyn knows she should finish the breakfast tray, should tidy the house, should check on Emily, should call her office and update them on what’s happened. Should do any number of things. But Mildred is warm and heavy as she sleeps against her, and Gwendolyn cannot compel herself to move.

She closes her eyes. What harm, she thinks, can come from spending a few hours curled up with the person she loves the most. The world will still be there when they wake. Right now, this moment, their world doesn’t extend any further than this bed, their breaths, their bodies in each other’s arms. This, Gwendolyn thinks, is so much more than enough.

**Author's Note:**

> For any interested parties: I hc Mildred having a shitty immune system for several reasons—one, because I have one thanks to years of being anorexic and also a deviated septum that means I constantly have sinus infections. Two, because it actually works with her history; children who grow up in poverty are more likely to develop chronic health conditions as adults. And three, I am just endlessly Soft for the thing of Stern and Tough Character is Just Endlessly Catching the Sniffles because it’s cute as fuck.
> 
> If anyone has requests, feel free to drop 'em here or on my tumblr @ anneofgreengaybles! I'm loving writing the Emily-verse and I hope y'all are enjoying it too.


End file.
